


Flashes from the Other Side

by PerpetuallyToastInMouth



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Does It Still Count As Fluff If It’s In The Middle Of A Dark Cave?, Functionist Universe (Transformers), M/M, Misleading Chapter Summaries Are Misleading, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, The Supercop Is Here, that phone call, you say you want a revolution
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-12
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-09-16 19:06:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16959789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PerpetuallyToastInMouth/pseuds/PerpetuallyToastInMouth
Summary: So really, what was Megatron up to on the Functionist Universe? A series of almost-flash fiction stories from the end of "Lost Light" #6 and later, a story of second meetings and chances -if those exist, of course.





	1. Chapter 1: Hanging on the Telephone

**Author's Note:**

> In which Terminus tries to set up a date for Megatron.

As with the last time –no, the _first_ time–, he heard of the words before he saw the mech in person.

“Yes. No, I see your point. You suspicion is understandable. I’d react the same way, too. I understand.”

Terminus had waited for Megatron’s call to end for a while, climbing up at the peak of Nova Point and getting back on the nearest clearing when he saw his old friend was still busy. It’s not like the two were in a real hurry; even with the northern leg of the speaking tour in front of them, he had prepared for breaks in-between. It wasn’t a security issue, either: some poor Empurata victim called Damus had been practicing on silencing Council signals for a while now, and it worked wonders. Or maybe the old mech was just shallow and wanted to hear his friend’s calming voice under the stars for a change –he wasn’t gonna lie about it.

“Really? How about... Wait, can I call you back in a moment?”

Megatron’s volume rose at first and fell again –he had controlled a spontaneous reaction. That couldn’t be yet another AVL Lieutenant. Now Terminus was getting interested in their guest.

“Yes, you’re right, neither of us has that luxury. How about a signal, then? Two missed calls from either side means yes? Understood. Roger. See you.”

He shuttered his optics and let a vent at that last one when he realized what he’d said. His gaze left the mountain ranges and the night sky and got fixed on the comms device in his right hand. He was about to walk away from the edge when the first missed call came. He stood immobile staring at the phone... and then saw Terminus at the edge of his vision.

“You must think I’m an idiot.” he chuckled and stepped towards the excavator. Smiling looked good on him.

The old mech shook his helm to imply “not at all”. “I _will_ admit to having heard bits and pieces from the exchange, but not enough to make sense of it. Was it someone important?”

“You have _no_ idea. If we manage to-“ His grin dropped and his eyes lost their brightness, though not out of sorrow like before. When he wanted to concentrate deeply on a task –especially of military strategy–, Megatron would power down a tad, as if to send more energy to module functions than everything else in his powerful frame. Terminus had seen him enter a similar state when he was writing, the way some priests would lower their energy output to (supposedly) receive celestial radio-waves. There was one difference, though: the intensity now was unmatched.

“I want your advice on something.” he finally said with a tone that implied an admission of weakness.

Terminus didn’t see it that way, and edged a little closer, muttering: “You know you can always ask for it.”

The warframe nodded and continued: “The person I was on the phone with... I know him. Or, I’ve known _a version_ of him, back in the War. He was...” He put a hand over his mouth and took it away. “It doesn’t matter who he _was_ , but who he _can be_. I got his number from Roller, and he answered his calls a while ago. As we’d presumed, he is indeed a member of the Primal Vanguard. They’ve just made planetfall in Staniz up north, and he called me between breaks of being chewed out by his superior officer.” That little detail was enough to make the corners of his mouth twitch with pride. “But what’s more important is that he’s interested in us meeting. He wants to hear more, he’s... Do I have the _right_ to do this?”

Despite his detached exterior, Megatron’s main system pressure must’ve been building up as he spoke, so when he finally said what he wanted, the release was visible. Wires and platting loosened, shoulders were lowered, his stance changed from that battle-ready posture he sometimes got out of instinct. Terminus had always been a careful observer, but someone half as skilled as him could’ve easily spotted the excitement in his old friend’s face. It was _the worker_ who had no right to deprive him of this meeting.

And yes, the strategic advantages were significant as well, though he was surprised to see he was considering them second. A member of the Primal Vanguard on their side? Even if he wasn’t as sharp as Megatron in raid planning, he’d at least be a fighting powerhouse. No, what concerned Terminus more was the emotional toll the rebellion had on his general. Having an old acquaintance could either be a huge boon or a distraction, but the risk would definitely be worth it. (And in the worst case scenario? The League Leader would settle it in his mind that the other one wasn’t interested once and for all and he’d focus back on the fight.) At the moment, there were plenty of pros and few cons to be had –and the latter could be judged as the meeting unfolded.

Still, he had to present this to Megatron in a way that’d make sense beyond “maybe it’ll be good for you”. He understood why his old friend felt he had to punish himself at times, but he didn’t have to approve of it.

“Do you not have the right to spread your message? Much less to those who _want_ to hear it?”

“I do, but what if I can’t separate my lives?”

The old miner blinked. “You mean as the rebel leader? That ship has left the station, I’m afraid.”

“No, of course not.” This would’ve been a quip, but he had no time for humor: his back was hunched, lifting an invisible heavy weigh. “I meant my _old_ life, back in the other universe. I’ve interacted with so many people there, and now that I see _clones_ of them all over, how am I supposed to _not_ get carried away and be presumptuous about them?”

So _that_ was the problem. Terminus looked down and smiled weakly. His plan to give a second chance for his friend hadn’t been as thorough as he’d thought. But he’d gotten out of harder predicaments than this –and for much less deserving goals.

He gently took the warframe’s left hand in his, his eyes still down, on the bashed-in digits and pinched nerve-ends. “Megatron of Tarn, are you not a changed man?”

A snicker. “That’s what I keep telling myself.”

He ignored it and his hold grew a little firmer. “And are you not in a changed world?”

“You can say that again.”

“So if _you’ve_ been allowed to be judged anew, then why shouldn’t _they_ deserve the same?”

“And what if I forget it as I go on?”

His voice had a tiny tremor of uncertainty in it, but he masked it by lowering it: “I’ll always be here to remind you.”

Megatron let a small vent and touched Terminus’ hand back with more confidence. The old bot didn’t need more words than that. He held his helm up to meet his old friend’s bright optics and broader smile.

Not that it stopped the other one from making snarky remarks as he raised an optic ridge: “And what if there’s another _you_ our there?”

The worker snorted a vent and looked upwards in resignation. “Let’s not lie to ourselves –I’m probably in pieces at some scrapheap by now. Melted down _if_ I’m lucky.”

His optics twitched in mock-pain. “I’m bad company. My morose humor’s rubbing off on you.”

“I’d say it was the ship crew’s fault, if you can call it that. You _did_ say there was a lot of banter on it.”

“Eh, habits die hard –old and new alike. I should know.”

That was finally enough for him to crack a laugh, and the old miner joined in with his own giggles. If the air was cool all over them at the top of the mountain, Terminus didn’t sense it. At that moment, the warmth in his old friend’s eyes and hand was enough to repel all the cold in the cosmos.

Megatron was about to leave the yellow communicator in the hook on his waist, saying “Terminus, I cannot thank you enough for-“ when the device vibrated again. A few seconds of movement, and it stopped. “The second call” he spat from within clenched teeth.

A message came seconds later, and they both held the phone close to read a string of numbers and a brief line of text: “ _I’ll throw this phone away. Here’s my new number. I’m waiting._ ”

“No time like the present” whispered the worker –he didn’t realize how invested he was in it.

An equally low voice came from his right. “Is there time before the next stop?”

“There’s always time for something like this.”

“Should we- No. We won’t ask for reinforcements. The less of us there are, the less attention we draw to ourselves.”

Terminus nodded, but he made a mental note to at least alert whoever from the nearby Staniz cells would be willing to help if things got messy. But for now, his eyes were on his general, triumphant and blazing in anticipation.

“And when do we move?”

“ _Now_.” Megatron said and pushed the call button.


	2. Chapter 2: Sit Together in the Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the meeting place sucks, the boys get stood up and Terminus makes everything worse.

The ride to the outskirts of Staniz had been surprisingly smooth. The AVL cells on their way were alerted and helped whichever way they could, even if they had no reserves to send as back-up. Their improvised radar worked fine against all odds. The few Functionary troops they came across, they made sure to avoid hours ahead of time. The coordinates for the meeting spot were delivered in perfect timing, the minute they crossed the outer borders of neighboring Bitrex. Neither his nor Megatron’s injuries had acted up at all during the trip.

And yet, Terminus was pacing back and forth at the cave entrance, restless and apprehensive.

“Please, calm down. I get tired just by watching you.”

His old co-worker had found a small makeshift bench on some rocks and settled the final details of their meeting via message exchange. Now he was casually leaning on the walls, at relative ease with the humid darkness and tight walls around him. Not that he was perfectly composed: he’d search his subspace pockets for something, not find it, forget about it and start the cycle all over again every few minutes. That aside, he’d sunk deep into thought, saying little, observing more and thinking at maximum.

Thankfully, he wasn’t completely oblivious to his partner. He tapped a half-dislodged seat next to him and winked: “Weren’t you supposed to be exhausted from traveling?”

The old miner nodded in agreement and mumbled “I’m fine, don’t worry”, but his emergency protocols refused to abide. Their hideout-slash-watchtower wasn’t helping. It was the only protected spot close to the city border with a decent view of the bright spaceport just outside its walls, but its past was clear to optics trained in the dark. Long ago it had seen use as a temporary prison –the signs were all over the energon-stained walls. Strategic advantage be damned, he didn’t even want to look further into the gaping side openings. The spotlights that shone without mercy on intruders versus the rotten history of the shadows: both options made him feel like his engine components would disintegrate.

And showing this much distress in front of his friend –so collected and determined– only made things worse.

He turned around to face the sitting mech. “How can _you_ be so calm about this?”

Without looking away from some spots of lubricant on the floor, the warframe said in a bruised, pragmatic tone: “I know what the worst that can happen is –and how to avoid it.”

He didn’t ask anything more; he only steeled himself to be worthy of his leader.

Half an hour later, the two had still not exchanged any words, though they were at least more relaxed in their respective spots. Terminus had taken up guard duty, crouching to the side of the cave entrance, and Megatron would let the occasional sigh when remembering he didn’t have what he was looking for in his pockets.

The double sounds of screeching brakes and vibrating phone snapped them out of their daze and they stood up to look outside. A truck was speeding away from the spaceport and though it seemed headed their way, it made a dangerous turn left and drove towards Bitrex.

“It’s all part of the plan. He’s throwing his superiors off, in case he’s being watched.” Megatron murmured and placed a reassuring arm on the old bot’s shoulder to draw him back inside.

The gesture didn’t go unnoticed –Terminus gave a tiny smile before speaking up: “But how’s he going to meet us up here?”

The warframe pointed at the walls with his optics, as if to say “Haven’t you noticed?” The old miner got it in moments –there had to have been hidden passages connecting the perfunctory cells here to the rest of the detainment facility. If their guest had truly started as a cop, then he could’ve found out about them by going through police archives.

Then came a flicker of hesitation: “And why didn’t he share it with us?”

That gave Megatron pause, and he stood silent for a while, his hand on his chin, before concluding: “He’s testing us. He wants to see how we’ll make it, and if we’ll expect him.” A sly grin was etched into his otherwise controlled face: “The more things change...”

Terminus was skeptical again, but he at least didn’t stay with his doubts for long; there must’ve been some kind of teleporter installed nearby, because the visitor was soon heard coming. Rash and heavy footfalls were followed by some short driving. It didn’t take long for a tall, red-and-blue frame with gray details to appear from one of the sideways gaping openings, fans whirring loud and blue optics glowing in anticipation.

The lack of lights didn’t offer the best of views, but a cursory glance was all the miner needed to confirm his suspicions. The imposing, sturdy soldier nearing them looked like the epitome of Functionist dogma: a beautiful tool with a purpose, an unwavering believer in the Will of Primus, a healthy specimen surviving and thriving. In other words, he looked like a challenge; and Megatron –or at least, this _new_ Megatron on his side– was attracted to challenges.

“Hello, Orion.”

The visitor received a sincere, proud smile, the kind you give to relatives you’ve missed. Should Terminus be inspired to confidence by it? He sure didn’t feel like it.

“I see you found a way, Megatron.” The steely voice sounded heavy with the rasp of alien battlefields, but showed little else. A faceplate covered any other signal that might slip, whatever would make him easy to read.

“I couldn’t miss this for the world.”

“For someone who’s not supposed to exist, you sound like you _missed_ me.”

Megatron snorted. “I know it sounds unbelievable, but you and I have quite the history. Ever heard of parallel universes before I brought them up the other day?”

The other nodded. “Only as a rumor. The Council controls publications, but not the gossip amongst scientists.”

“Why the surprise, then?”

“I prefer ‘skepticism’. Nobody tells me you’re but a deluded criminal with a made-up name. Nobody except...” He turned to look at Terminus for the first time.

The miner felt the intensity in Orion’s optics, then a protective hand that reached over his chassis and pushed him back gently. “You have no business with him, only with me.”

He opened his mouth to defend himself but was stopped by Megatron’s look, gentle and resolute. He’d seen him use it plenty of times in Messatine, when lying to their supervisors about Terminus’ worsening condition. The message had been clear: “Don’t talk. Let me take care of this.”, “Let _me_ take the blame.”, “ _I_ can take this.”

The more things change, indeed.

Unlike mining staff, however, the visitor kept asking questions: “Then what _is_ he doing here? Is he your hostage? Your accomplice?”

“He’s someone you shouldn’t be interested in right now.”

Their voices kept getting harsher, but they reached Terminus as if they were coming from far away. They bounced on the walls of the cave –what good were second chances, if he was still trapped between rocks? Still intimidated by the people in charge, still needing Megatron to stand for him?

Something cracked inside.

“I cannot trust you if you hide basic things-”

“What I have to tell you has _nothing_ to do with him. Why are you so fixated on-“

“I am Terminus of Helex, sir.”

He didn’t raise his voice all that much, but its abruptness caused the two to sharply turn towards him. He answered the curiosity in Orion’s optics and the fear in Megatron’s with determination. Or stubbornness; could be that, too.

The soldier recovered first. “I see. What is your class?”

“It _used_ _to be_ manual. Then I got into an accident and was transported through time. When I woke up... there were no classes anymore.” He shrugged triumphantly.

The cold blue optics twitched slightly. “This cannot be.”

“It is where _we’re_ from.” he said and inclined his helm to his right. He wished he knew what his friend’s face was like at that moment, but he was too focused on the conversation to turn and see.

Orion looked down for a second, and then spoke in a more measured tone: “Let me take a frequency-gram, to verify you really are who you claim to be.”

His first instinct was to back away, but he stopped when he saw Megatron raising his hand to protest. He held his wrist and whispered: “It’s fine, I consent to it.” He wanted to add that his concern was touching, but it didn’t leave his voicebox. Megatron agreed despite his obvious discomfort –their roles were fully reversed, and it amused Terminus.

No, he took it back; Orion’s  _glaring_ discomfort with the Spark Identificator was _priceless_. With trembling fingers, he took the glass instrument out of a flashing cavity in his chest –he had to have been modded for it. He then placed its fork to hover just above the miner’s half-opened chamber, almost looking away from the sparklight cracking through. A few seconds of close contact with the item and a mechanical “ping” later, he murmured “That’s enough” and turned around to examine the collected rays and give the miner some privacy. For his part, the old bot scoffed as he shut his private chest spot, but smiled seeing Megatron do the exact same thing a few feet back. Prudish things, weren’t they?

The results came almost in an instant, projected as hard light via the soldier’s wrist hologram: a complete profile of “Terminus of Helex”. Orion read it out loud and the worker’ optics followed along, to the life of an identical stranger: “Ignited at the Mesmerica hot spot, assigned into manual class, described as disobedient in multiple reports, died in 5th Cycle 787, later recalled and liquefied to create mining equipment. Does that sound correct?”

He gave a half-hearted nod. “To a degree. I’m still alive and there’s info missing.”

Before he could continue, Orion went silent. He ran an additional check on his systems –some more lights blinked from his chest, dimmer this time– and muttered something about his clearance level. Megatron, having stepped closer after the spark identification, let a grunt and whispered: “Well, at least your death predictions for here were right. That’s something.”

Terminus wanted to laugh, but the sound that came out was difficult to identify. The joke was decent enough, but why would it come right at that-

A super-charged laser pistol inches from his forehead and a shove to the left made everything clear. The soldier’s stern notice was redundant.

“You are both under arrest for the crimes of reality invasion and class abandonment. I am Primus’ clenched fist, and his Hand shall guide me.”


	3. Chapter 3: Fallen Brethren Bones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which things turn reckless and physical. Not in the way you think. Okay, maybe a little.

Energon dripping on his shoulder.

Agony from his wearied back-side.

Laser blast echoes, reflected and magnified.

A gray mass charging helm-first into an attacker’s abdomen, head-butting him to the wall behind.

“GO!”

That thunderous voice. He’d focus on it. Then the rest would make sense.

It took Terminus a few seconds of intense concentration to come back from his panic, and the first thing he felt was shame. It’s not like he wasn’t used to intense situations like this –he’d braved more than a fair share of cave-ins and forced explosions back in the day.  _Now_  they find the need to feel oppressive?

The worker rose to his feet with some effort and cleared his viewfield. In the poor lighting of the cave, the two fighters clashed with a ferocity he could feel on his plating. Orion had been taken by surprise at first, but he rebounded by kicking Megatron in the chest. The warframe let his opponent go with a grunt and stepped back, but just as the soldier neared him for a punch, he dodged to the side, then grabbed him by the arm to subdue him. The red-and-blue mech used the other arm to attack, but was flipped over on his back by his own force. Just as the rebel kneeled down and tried to subdue him with a hold, the cop head-butted him in the forehead. And on it went, faster and faster, kick after hold after counter-attack, a struggle for dominance where win and loss switched in rapid succession for each combatant.

In any other occasion, the dance-like display of martial arts would’ve made him step away mesmerized. Not now –he had to find an opening and rush in to help. And the more time he wasted, the more Megatron succumbed to fatigue, and the more observant his opponent became, and the easier he could read his moves-

And collapse him to the ground, panting, backed into a corner.

Without thinking, he ran towards Orion’s raised fist. Yes, his style was similar to Megatron’s –that pitiful excuse for improvised self-defense the miners taught one another–, but he was also less refined, more unpredictable. The element of surprise would give him at least a few good hits-

But the soldier was ready. He redirected his fist at the miner’s face, and punched him with enough force to stop his clumsy rampage. It wasn’t the _pain_ Terminus minded more, but the sensory overload: his optics filled with black static, his audials ringed with damage reports. No makeshift defense stance would help against official military training, but he gave it a shot. He didn’t know how he held on and didn’t collapse in a klik; he didn’t even mind the next few hits, so proud he was in his resilience.

It was the fifth punch that did it –and the screech of stretched neck wires. Orion was going for a _beheading by force_. Terminus lost his balance, his composure, the world beneath his feet. The thud of armor on rocks as he fell masked the panicked wail that escaped his throat.

His vision drowned in static flashes, he relied on his hearing. The predator’s unnatural pause was interrupted by a wounded shout, then came more clashing, hitting, snapping, splashes of liquids on walls. He couldn’t discern sources anymore, nor did he care.

With little sense of direction – _just take the low road,_ screamed long-dormant miner code–, Terminus scurried to his feet and rushed to the nearest escape tunnel. He took a downwards slope in a frenzy, almost sliding away, too panicked to transform or even clutch his burning parts. His view was a blur of identical passageways, rusted cells and alphanumerical sings in his headlights –all nonsensical. Nothing mattered, not the inky darkness, not the dripping roof beams, not the abandoned torture chambers...

***

It was minor spasms that woke him from his trance. His aching back was too much to ignore, and he leaned against a steel door to cool down. It wasn’t fast enough; his fans were working at full power, buzzing inside his head, driving him insane. Never mind, he’d remove his helm and apply pressure to some exposed wires beneath, that always did the trick-

He lifted his arms to remove the helmet, and felt no cut on them whatsoever. The leaking shoulder from before hadn’t been his own.

 _His_ Energon hadn’t been spilled – _Megatron’s_ had.

He spat an old Helexian curse and winced as it echoed in the dark. He snapped to his senses, realizing the chaotic noises of battle had already been muted for some time. He scolded the part of himself that felt the slightest relief from this.

Retrace his steps, that’s what he should do. He turned his advanced HUD settings on and inspected the visual feed of the past ten minutes. Swarmed by low-res, shaky loops, he got a general feel of the place with a bit of rewinding and pausing. All mines used a uniform ranking system to denote tunnel position, so from the changing letters and descending numbers, he could at least tell he’d ended up east-side, towards the center of the formation. There was even enough metadata to guess his speed –and if _his_ slow aft could make it in twelve minutes, the cop would be there at eight, tops.

Half a minute of processing later, Terminus decided on a downwards-western course to confuse his pursuer and reach one of the main intersections on the next level; from there, he’d see what chances of retreat he had. He stood up, groping at the wall for support, venting sharply. If asked, he’d say it was determination –he could keep up the lie for a while.

He refused to make any prediction about Megatron. He _had_ to still hold on. _No way_ was he down.

Not after he’d been abandoned all over. Left on his own, in a desolate mine, at the mercy of state violators. His only company a rusting wannabe all-star with defective fight-or-flee protocols.

He stomped his foot ineffectually. The curse word rose to his lips again, as did bile.

And in all his self-pity, he failed to listen for the shaky approach of steps from a few feet behind.

“What kind of language _is_ this, Terminus? I know no one would care, but that’s no excuse.”

Terminus lifted his helm to his old friend’s body awash in scorching biolight reds. The old miner stood straight and neared him with restored vigor. Megatron was fine, all else was immaterial, a limping stride and stained armor meant little to his leader’s sober... No, now that he was closer, he saw the warrior was actually _smirking_. His look was that of a flier sparkling who took their first fall and longed for the skies during repairs. Something mischievous, almost _thirsty_ had set in on his features –for what, he couldn’t exactly tell, though he had ideas.

Still, wound inspection took priority. The old bot met the younger halfway through the tunnel and pointed to a pocket he’d skipped before in his hurry. They both took a turn left and sat on the floor, somewhat protected from prying optics –temporarily, at least. Terminus switched some emergency helm lights on to take a closer look at his comrade’s frame, pulling up whatever first-aid files he had in his memory from long ago. A few of them were corrupted by information creep and temporal displacement –understandable, but unfortunate all the same–, littering his HUD with blurred data. Scrambled lines of code looked fitting, close to complementary when projected next to open gashes and twisted cables.

Perhaps this distraction was why it took him a while to see a swift hand waving next to the punctured shoulder he’d started with. It directed him to the gray mech’s face and his confident, inviting smile, and as distressed as he was with everything, Terminus couldn’t help but admit the sight was charming... though the lack of sound coming from moving lips soon turned bizarre.

“Excuse me?”

Megatron blinked, then inclined his head closer and repeated slowly: “I said, _he_ could still track you by your profanities, besides.”

All the miner did was vent out an “Ah”; had he missed a conversation?

Megatron realized something, his optic ridges shot up and he pointed at the side of his head. “Your left audial’s busted. I think it turns on and off at random –probably from the punches you took. No wonder you didn’t hear me get close.”

“I see.”

A lot was hidden behind that little phrase: relief for his reunion with his leader, fear for Orion’s strength, shame for his own helplessness. He switched gears to avoid all of them, while moving on to weld a slash in the warframe’s abdomen. “Never mind that. How did _you_ find me?”

“I have fine-tuned the act of locating invectives and those who spout them. Don’t ask why. Or _how_.”

There was definitely a story about the Ship of Fools here somewhere, and though Terminus would listen gladly, this wasn’t the time. Megatron didn’t seem interested in reminiscing, either; he shrugged and went on to describe how he’d found his way around. Turns out the old miner’s cooling systems were so inefficient, he’d been located via a primitive heat vision patch they’d had installed in Messatine. As the warframe further described how he navigated the caves, the elder kept on fixing whatever little wounds he could. His lack of medical expertise didn’t seem to have much of an effect –the fighter looked full of fire either way, as if damage didn’t hamper him at all.

“What about the _other_?”

The indignity of Orion going unnamed didn’t escape Megatron, who only raised his optic ridges for a monent. “Threw him off a bridge a few levels above. I’m sure he’s fine.” The disbelief on Terminus’ face must’ve been visible, since the gray frame went on after the briefest of pauses: “Unless you kill them yourself, they’re not dead –not even if others bring you the body for inspection. Trust me, I’ve learned that the hard way.”

It was for moments, but Terminus let himself daydream. He imagined a red-and-blue shell, all missing parts and leaking innards, _still_ moving towards them with all its strength, grabbing unto whatever fold on the ground it reached, propelled by its dreadful mission. That monster was unstoppable, and the more it stayed close to Megatron, the more it infected him with its frenzy.

“ _Agh_! Watch it!”

In his distraction, he’d pushed a plate inwards to a nerve end. The warrior gritted his teeth and let an angry gasp.

“Oh! Forgive me, let me...“

His fingers twitched and froze in mid-form before warming back again. A stray line of corrupted code blocked his view of the cut and he had to move to the side. A pop-up on his HUD warned he didn’t have the correct tool for the job and he brushed it aside.

“Terminus, you can stop now. That’s _enough_.”

He couldn’t exactly tell his tone – was it dismissive or flippant? His leader was about right, though: that was _pointless_.

Without a look at his repair work, he stepped backwards and away from the gray frame to reach the pocket’s entrance and stand up. He tried to ignore the red optics following him –his mind was already on the upcoming challenge.

“You hear him coming?”

“No, but I’m getting ready.”

He didn’t hear a thing in response. His Spark sank in its chamber, but it made things easier. Looking at the place where his T-Cog should be and sighing, he stepped outside... But a hand on his shoulder stopped him.

“I said, ready for _what_?”

He turned around and put on the best smile he could muster –a bittersweet one still counts. “I’ll lead him away and you get the drop on him. It’ll work now that we’re coordinated.”

Megatron chuckled, his face filled with the same uncomfortable joy and deep longing. “Why don’t you leave the plans to me?”

“And risk more injuries?”

“Unlike _you_ , I can take them.”

“That’s what I’m saying.”

Terminus went for the exit again, but the hand on his shoulder grasped tighter. Reluctantly, he looked up to his old friend; he was bereft of mirth, his previous excitement had been molded into stern resolve. When Megatron spoke next, he had a general’s severity: “If you’re thinking of going out there, forget it. I _forbid_ it. That is an order.”

He grinned without meaning to; this confidence gave him a glimmer of hope. “But I volunteer for the good of the mission. I _want_ to be of use.”

“You’d be more of use if you got a grip and stopped acting like a fool.”

He was struggling for words; was it out of physical or mental exhaustion? “What else can I do?” he said and hoped the desperation didn’t show.

There was an alarm on his viewfield; a data packet was delivered to him wirelessly. “Follow these internal coordinates and get out. You know your way around mines, this one is no different.”

Terminus sighed. “I appreciate it, but if I distract him-”

“You think I can’t do it on my own? Is that it?”

Megatron was just about to snarl; if he didn’t know better, the old bot would’ve thought that he’d touched a nerve. It wasn’t that –or it wasn’t _just_ that. Megatron kept sending him glyph data through the connection, and he must’ve had a hard time concentrating on two simultaneous conversations: _Those flashing lights on his chest –he shouldn’t have them. Whatever they are, they are possibly delicate equipment that can be tampered with. He has an obvious weak point that we can exploit_

Terminus ignored the message; he’d made his choice. “It’s not that. I just realize...”

His next words came out defeated –he hadn’t heard his voice like that since being yelled at in his first job, millennia ago. “I’m _so_ very close to my limits here. You talk about being old, Megatron, but compared to you? I’m a _husk_.” Even his tick of avoiding his superior’s gaze was back, as he kept looking down at his hands.

But he had to say his piece. “I don’t trust this Orion person, but your judgement’s never led us astray. If getting him on our side means I damage myself to the point of non-functioning, it’ll be a worthy trade-off. And since we’re cut-off from our allies in this deathtrap... this is the only way.”

His friend went silent. Then he exploded with a fury that Terminus had seen only once, when he exited the Necrobot’s chambers. “But it doesn’t _have_ to be! You can leave this place safely, I can change Optimus’ mind –by beating him _halfway to_ _death_ if I have to– and we can go back to breaking the hold these _monsters_ have over this world! We can do it _all_! I know how to _fight_ him! I can-“

He only had one second to witness Megatron’s face frozen in terror. Then there was a tremor, and waves of rust dust engulfed them both. An engine far more powerful than any individual mech’s blared in the distance, preceded by the rush of stones being smashed.

Megatron had time for one more line before the Pit broke loose.

“Sounds like he found the super-mole.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops, that took an unneccesary amount of time! It shouldn't take that long for an update again!

**Author's Note:**

> Hey folks! First long-form work here, and it's all thanks to the kudos from the last one-shot I posted! (Many thanks, by the way, apologies for not reaching you sooner, you are all amazing!) I think you can read it comfortably enough without having read "Absent Friends", but in my head, it's a sequel to it. As always, enjoy!


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